These Boots Were Made for Walkin'

Until recently, my first and only pair of cowboy boots were a gift from my parents in fourth or fifth grade. They were black. They were authentic. I was ahead of my time...

I thought I was looking good in my black cowboy boots and stirrup pants when I headed to the bus stop that morning. I looked so good that I was running late and I watched the bus pull away from my stop as I walked down the hill.

No worries, the bus rounded the corner and I knew it would make two more stops before circling back to Park Ave. I picked up the pace and went from a gallop to a trot to get to the other bus stop. I failed to consider that the sidewalk might be a bit slick. It was the dead of winter in Iowa, the black ice state. 

It was the kind of slip and fall where everyone goes, OOOOHH! You don't even laugh. You know bones were broken. Specifically, my tail bone. 

I looked too good to cry. So I picked myself up and got on that bus. The bus driver asked me to sit down. But I told her I couldn't. She saw me fall and was nice enough to let me surf all the way to school. 

I never even made it to class. I walked in the front doors of the school and straight to the nurse's office. They called dad, he picked me up and took me home. His famous words were, "If you're going to be home all day you might as well fold this basket of towels."

It took 20 years to work up the courage to buy a new pair of boots. I won't wear them if there's even a hint of frost. Another blow like that and my tail bone might break off completely. God knows my ass can't get any flatter.